Gemotions

The world felt soft, muffled. Clara had spent the morning painting, allowing colors to flow onto the canvas. It had been a cathartic process. She felt the warmth of the day seep into her bones as she walked towards the park. She held her book, the pages already marked where she had stopped. A call came in. Her phone displayed a familiar name. After she hung up, she stood still, the park's vibrant energy failing to reach her. It felt like standing in a bubble. She looked up at the sky, a vast, unbroken expanse of blue. She thought of tea. Earl Grey, perhaps, with a touch of honey.